Numbers
by finaljoy
Summary: Grimmjow is a high-class criminal sentenced to the infamous prison Haven for murders he did not commit. So when he's offered a way out, he takes it. Even if it means hunting down the psychotic mass murderer assuming the identity '45'. Because he knows something no one else does; 45 is actually Ichigo Kurosaki. (criminal au)
1. An Option to Consider

_**AN Whoa, I am...really, really excited for this story! Gosh, I'm even a little breathless as I type this! This story is going to have a darker and more mature feel than **_**Death is the Simplest Thing,_ so the rating might change. It's bouncing between teen and mature in my head, and we'll just have to see where it ends up XD_**

**_I hope you all enjoy _Numbers.  
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He was sick of the _white._ Because everything was, everything lacked definition, color, life. The floors, the walls, the bed, the door, heck, even the freaking table and chairs were white.

What Grimmjow liked, what he felt best in was chaos. Noise, people yelling, constant motion, the _city..._That was what he loved, what he flourished in. So to be confined in a padded white box...well. That just about made him mad.

But he wasn't, not yet, or else he'd be in a straight jacket faster than he could curse out the doctors hiding behind tinted glass, observing him day after day after day.

Which was pretty dang fast.

Today though, there was something different. He could just feel it.

So when Grimmjow heard a clatter and shuffle that broke up the contrived serenity, he wasn't all that surprised. He waited, knowing that there was something else, whether it was a bomb or a voice.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

He sighed, glancing over his shoulder. A tray had been scooted into the room, via the tiny flap in the bottom of the heavily barred door. A styrofoam bowl sat on it, holding grapes, apple slices and pieces of cantaloupe. A plastic spork sat primly beside it, the preferred utensil of this forsaken place.

"I don't like melon."

Still, he shoved himself off the bed, picking up the tray and slamming it on the himself into the chair, Grimmjow rocked back, putting his feet up on the table. They were bare, as he'd taken the standard issue white slippers, pulled them apart and used them to bullwhip the next doctor who walked in. Suffice to say, he lost the slippers, and, as an unexpected bonus, most all human interaction. No scientists, no shrinks, no free time with other inmates, no _nothing._ Except for the intercom, which was almost worse, because he couldn't get rid of it.

"What's this for?" he asked, picking up the bowl and inspecting the fruit. He munched on an apple slice, waiting for an answer. None came, and decided that this was an open invitation to begin his favorite sport.

Provocation.

"Don't tell me this is just a gift. Is it my birthday or something?" He flicked a grape at the wall, just to irritate the person talking to him.

"Or is this your idea of a box of chocolates? Because honestly, I'm not interested in going out with the self-righteous government pricks who locked me in here. But...I guess if you're a chick, I might consider it. After all, who knows the last time I got laid. It might be-"

"Please, stop such vulgar chattering," came the sharp reply.

_There we go,_ he thought, stifling a smirk. _Finally, a reaction._

The voice had changed, the first one male, now this one was female. It made him smile, knowing he'd already started to piss one of them off and they'd hardly been talking for a minute. Good to know he hadn't lost his touch.

He waited, flicking another grape at the wall. There was a slight sigh, and the man said "We ah...would like to request something of you, Mister Jeagerjacques"

"_Mister_ Jeagerjacques? _Mr._ Jeagerjacques? Who is this _Mister _git you're talking about? I thought I was the only one in here, and I'm just the psycho killer, ain't I?"

"Please, we know that you're upset by by your confinement-"

_"Upset?_ Awh naw, I ain't _upset. _I'm bloody livid! You locked me in here, and I'm determined to make you pay for it. Just wait." He had leaped to his feet, chair falling back with a loud clatter, fists balled. Usually him yelling caused people to back down as fast as they could, or prepare to hit him, which only earned them an elbow to the face.

"Then we may be able to help each other, Mister Jeagerjacques." _That_ was a new one.

Grimmjow Jeagerjacques was a criminal locked in Haven, the highest security prison in the country, possibly the whole world. It's location was secret, other than it being somewhere in western Europe, and all of the murderous lunatics, mass arsonists, terrorists and the like were confined there for both public safety and for academic benefit. The theory was that if the brains studied not just the crimes, but also the criminals and the motives at a higher degree, they'd be able to stop the crimes from happening.

What idiots.

They never even considered that the real bad guys did it because they were nuts and did not care about the rules.

Grimmjow had been researched for a while, too, before he'd pulled the slipper-bull whip trick. They'd kept asking him why he'd gotten into crime, why he'd murdered all those people, why he'd denied it all the way to Haven when there was irrefutable evidence all pointing towards him. Obviously they didn't get the message the first hundred times that he'd told them _he didn't do it_.

But now, they were telling him that they might...let him _go_? That didn't happen. If you were a convict assigned a cell in Haven, the only way you were leaving was in a body bag, and maybe even not then.

You did _not_ leave Haven.

Grimmjow sat back down, sure they were messing with him. He popped a grape into his mouth, scowling.

"You see, we've got a problem that...can't be solved by the usual means."

"What, you mean not even the famed Interpol can stop it? _Impressive." _He popped another grape in his mouth, showing his long standing contempt for the Interpol.

"No, Mr. Jeagerjacques. For this, we need an inside man."

"That's lovely." He picked up the spork, twirling it in his fingers.

"There is a threat, possibly to the entire world," explained the man, and Grimmjow wondered if he was getting his hopes up. "He is quite possibly the most successful, and the most dangerous,criminal of the century."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, thrumming the tines against his thumb. He'd heard the 'most dangerous' spiel a thousand times over, and he'd come to the very accurate conclusion that they were just a bunch of idiots with some serious delusions of grandeur. The big dogs never proclaimed how great they were to their enemies.

Though, it might be a different matter, considering that this was coming from the government. It might actually have some credibility. The thought of this impressed him slightly, but did not interest him. Grimmjow was here, in the Haven, and the lunatic was out there. It didn't affect him.

The voice paused, as if deciding what to say next, then continued.

"This person is...45, or, officially, Ichigo Kurosaki."

Grimmjow's thumb froze over the spork.

"...45?"

"Yes," the man said, sounding a little too satisfied with himself for finally getting something out of Grimmjow. He bit his cheek, thinking that this was a small, small world.

"Okay. Okay. Why ask _me_ to go after this nutter? Ain't there somebody else?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level. This obviously wasn't a development he'd expected, but he had to get as much information from these people as possible before they decided to shut up. The best way to do that was to play dumb.

"You are not to kill him," the woman's voice cut in, sounding sharp. He sighed, rolling his eyes as she continued. "You are only to capture and transport him to the safe house, then we take over."

"Yeah yeah, it was a figure of speech, lady. I'm not a murderer, despite what you think." There was another pause and a slight scuffle of static, making Grimmjow think one of them had put their hand over the mic. He took the moment to try and sort out what he knew.

45 was still on the loose. He had these guys spooked, spooked enough to even consider letting Grimmjow out of Haven, much less even propose the idea to him. After that...Grimmjow didn't really know all that much. He could only guess what atrocities 45 had committed while he'd been locked up, and what resources he'd started gathering without anyone to watch him.

"We...are dealing with a very delicate situation here, Mister Jeagerjacques. If we put too much pressure on one end of the scales, that is, give a certain variable without considering the consequences..."

"Basically you're afraid that if you give me the change to kill this guy, I'll go stark mad and start killing everyone in sight," Grimmjow said flatly, rocking forward on his chair so that the front legs landed with a sharp thunk. "Ignoring _everything_ I've said since I was thrown into this pit, you still think I'm a homicidal lunatic. And if I go gung-ho over this job, then you're afraid that _he'll_ start killing people, too, is that right?"

"Yes, Mister Jeagerjacques," the woman said flatly, and he laughed.

"Ah, finally, some straightforward answers! See, this is why I could never get into politics. Too much smarmy BSing for me to handle. But, the interesting thing about this is that you never said you wouldn't kill 'im. So, Johnny-boy's stuck with the gallows, either way."

"Of course. Considering the things he's done, it would be lunacy to allow him to live. There are some criminals in Haven that would normally be sentenced to death, but for the sake of research are allowed to live. He has utterly out stripped them, leaving no room for mercy.

"If you truly take this job, you will have to understand the situation. 45...he has an astounding list of crimes and therefore resources and experiences to draw from to evade you. Throughout his criminal career, he has murdered fifteen people, both civilians and important government officials from various countries, committed fifteen acts of arson, five of which were international and on buildings of importance, embezzled fifteen different large organizations as well as bombing-"

"Lemme guess, fifteen different places."

"-Seven," the man said shortly. Grimmjow resumed dragging his thumb over the tines of the fork, wondering what on earth the world had come to if one person was allowed to commit fifty-three different large crimes. He'd known that 45 was certainly good at what he did, but still, it was kind of ridiculous.

"It seems, he switches to a new crime once he reaches fifteen. Presumably once he's exhausted his list of crimes he'll start over, working up to thirty."

"And you're just going to let him go along his merry way until he dies?"

"No. You are going to catch him, Mister Jeagerjacques."

"_If_ I say I want to help."

"You'd rather stay in this 'pit'?" Grimmjow scowled, not liking having his own words tossed back at him like that.

"You never said why you picked me."

"You...have been selected because you are connected to more people than we are," the man said with another sigh, as if he were indulging Grimmjow. "You also have a history with him. You can antici-"

"_No one_ can anticipate him," Grimmjow grunted through grit teeth. His hand was clenched around the spork as he tried not to start throwing things. That would _not _get him out of there. "This guy, 45, he is _insane!_ You can't just _predict_ him! He may work for years on blowing up the country, then just decide to just...walk away, take it all down! You can't set a trap for him, no matter who you are!"

"Alright, alright, no one can expect what he'll do next. But...you might be able to come close. You also might be able to stop him before he kidnaps another person."

"And why would I put my neck on the line for you guys? What if he catches and then kills _me,_ huh? Then he'll be even more on the watch, and you'll be just about screwed. Think of that yet?"

"We have, Mister Jeagerjacques, actually thought of all the situations you have just suggested. But there is another reason why you were selected."

"And what's the reason?" he demanded, irritated. "There are _thousands_ of people with the same amount of connections with me, if not more. And they didn't even get caught."

"You are the only one who has the grudge providing a furious vendetta against him."

Grimmjow froze, completely shocked. He hadn't told anyone, hardly even had the chance, and yet, these people _knew._ But no...they couldn't have. They couldn't have! If they had, then that meant...

He narrowed his eyes, rage flaring to life.

If they knew, then that meant they _knew_ they had wrongly convicted him.

"Big mistake," he snarled, staring at the table, trying not to jump up and break it in half. "Look buddy, if you want someone to do your dirty work, you don't tell them that they were knowingly framed and then sent to jail!"

"We weren't a part of that, Mister Jeagerjacques," he said, and Grimmjow could just see the mad scramble for words that was going on the other side of the microphone. "And you can't do anything by blaming us now. It'd be far better if you focused on your impending freedom!"

Freedom. That wasn't something he'd even thought about for a long time. Not seriously, anyways. Of course he'd entertained a few silly thoughts of escape, but he was in Haven, with no prospect of ever getting an ally. He'd also shouted that he'd escape whenever he thought someone was listening, mostly to keep the doctors on their toes. He knew that some convicts would rather kill themselves than stick around, being interrogated by the doctors and then shuffled off to intensive manual labor. He personally wasn't affected by the labor, as work was just work, and he didn't talk to the doctors anymore, so the only thing he had to battle was the boredom. Grimmjow had even considered going mad once or twice, just for something to do. But now that he had another carrot dangling above his face...insanity was considerably less appealing.

He considered his options, wondering if spiting them was really worth stay in there for the rest of his sentence. Which was the rest of his life.

It surprised him just how long he thought.

"Fine," he sighed, "I'll do it. Just tell me what I'm doing."

"Very good," the man said, and the female voice came on through the speakers.

"Alright. We have information that Kurosak-"

_"Don't_ say his name," Grimmjow hissed, clinching his teeth.

"...45, then. We have learned that he is going to be in London, England for at least three months. _You _have to figure out why, if he's with someone, if so who, what he's planning and, if necessary, stop it."

"Sounds like I'm a bloody detective," he grumbled, bending the head of the spork back.

"Only you're being paid in freedom."

"Question. If I _do _manage to bag 'im, what then?"

"You will be officially pardoned by the British government, and the charge that sentenced you here will be cleared. _Cancelled out,_ if you will. If you _do_ get convicted again, your public service will lean in your favor." Grimmjow stifled a smirk, noticing how he wasn't to be cleared of all charges. Still, it was certainly something.

"Right. So let me get this straight - if I catch him, then I get released, plus a bit of leverage in my pocket. If I don't, I'm probably dead or back here. I don't know what he's planning, I have no allies, I have no resources, and I'm supposed to catch the most dangerous individual in the world."

"Yes and no. You will have resources. We will provide the money to get you started, and you will still have the...allies you had before you were admitted into Haven. But I would not advise you to run away."

"I ain't going anywhere!" he spat, insulted they'd even consider he'd run away from such a challenge. The voice cut over him, though, not caring what he felt.

"There will be a tracker placed in your arm, one that you cannot remove. Not without losing the use of your right arm, at the very least. We will be monitoring it, and if you leave the country without informing us of the reason pertaining to catching 45, you will be detained."

"...Okay. Okay. When do I start?"

"We're glad you asked," the woman said, and Grimmjow heard a soft sound from the other end of the room. He looked up just in time to see the door that had been closed for so long slide open, and a group of burly men peg him in the leg with a dart.

_**AN Well, the stage is set, now you have to tell me what you think ;)  
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	2. I'm Home

_**AN Wow, new chapter! I'm really, really excited for this story to actually get rolling, and I hope you are, too!  
><strong>_

Grimmjow jerked upright, body tense. He looked around, utterly confused. He was...beside a train track. Out in the country, with big sky, stretches of fields and a lovely haze of smog so characteristic of large cities hanging on the skyline under the clouds. He glanced down at himself, wondering what on earth had happened.

Distant and rather blurry memories came to him, vaguely explaining that the scientists had changed him. That was about it, other than someone roughly carrying him and a whole lot of hallways.

He was wearing ill fitting clothes, but at least they weren't that awful white uniform of Haven. He had a t-shirt, jean over shirt and baggy jeans. But no shoes.

For a moment, Grimmjow let the relief that he was out wash through him, he was out of Haven, really out, back into the free world. But why had they left him in the middle of _nowhere_?

Grimmjow got to his feet, deciding that when it came to other people having humor suspiciously similar to his, it really pissed him off.

Grumbling to himself, he brushed the worst of the dirt off him, stretching. Grimmjow knew there was a big city nearby, but he was really hoping that, one, he was still in England, and two, that the big city was London.

He started walking towards the smog, scowling at the rocks digging into his feet. He tested the train track beside him, and after making sure it wasn't going to cook his feet, started walking along it. Grimmjow sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had noticed right away that it had been cut from that long and probably unsightly mess it had been in Haven. Not that he could be sure just how unsightly it had been, as he hadn't been allowed to have mirrors in his cell.

Prisoners were allowed basic privileges, so long as they weren't insane, homicidal to every breathing thing, or a criminal genius. Haircuts, relatively nice food, and if they were especially good, time to play some sports or take a handful of what Haven considered 'benign classes'. These were only supplied, however, if the convicts behaved themselves.

Grimmjow, predictably, had not behaved.

The first time he'd gotten pissed at something, the attitude of another prisoner, the food, whatever, he'd managed to keep himself in check, aside from a few nasty words that made some people go white as a sheet. The next time, he'd ended up flipping something. The last time, however, he'd been honestly provoked. Some idiot had been talking tough, baiting him into a fight, and Grimmjow very kindly told him to back off before he was hit over the head with a baseball bat, but the idiot hadn't listened to him. He even dealt the first blow, a sissy smack to his mouth that Grimmjow was pretty sure was supposed to be a punch, then Grimmjow knocked him to the ground, grabbed a nearby lunch tray and gave him a sample of his promise. Only, he was tackled by a couple guards, so it didn't have the effect he'd intended. The guy still had a mild concussion, which was something.

This little stunt stripped Grimmjow of all his 'creature comforts', leaving him with no haircuts, nice food or time with other inmates.

He hopefully pulled his hair down to look at it, then swore. It was still that stupid dirty dishwater color, not blue. How was Grimmjow supposed to be Grimmjow without his trademark style? The gelled blue hair, eye makeup and expensive street clothes, they were all just as important in intimidating people as letting them know he had a gun in the back of his jeans.

The countryside was becoming more and more familiar, which was a rare good sign. If his memory served, he was only a few hours from London, at least, only a few hours from London by car. He was walking along a train track with no shoes.

Grimmjow continued grumbling to himself, swinging a fist. There were more things on his mind, other than what he looked like and how long it'd take him to get to London. What was the date, how long had he been in Haven? Convicts weren't allowed to see newspapers or calendars, or really anything with outside information. It was supposed to be part of their punishment, a weird psychological thing some crackpot shrink had come up with. Though, admittedly, Grimmjow had heard stories of people snapping at not being able to know what was going on outside Haven's walls. But then, they had been con artists or people who depended on being utterly in control. Everyone else didn't care. The way he saw it, they were going to be stuck in there until they rotted anyways, what did knowing who married whom or what new movie came out matter?

Mood deteriorating, he shoved his hands in his pockets, then yanked them back out, right hand clenched around a piece of paper. Grimmjow opened it with a frown, and saw the words _'Your account will be reactivated.'_ It was folded multiple times, and he opened it a second time, reading _'Find some friends. We can't do this alone.'_

Unfold again.

_'Don't lose your head. Make sure you call,' _followed by a number. He frowned a little harder. Grimmjow checked his back pockets, and was surprised to find a wallet. It contained several large bills and a credit card with a sticky note on it.

_'It's yours, but set up under a government account. Use it to get started. We'll know what you buy with it.'_

He grinned, glad to finally have a _really _good piece of news. Grimmjow put the wallet back into his pocket, thinking that there were suddenly a lot of things he wanted to buy.

He kept walking for a while, until he reached the road. Grimmjow squinted, wondering how it'd take him to get into the city. If he could hitchhike, hopefully he'd be able to get back and find his place before it was pitch dark.

After a few minutes of walking, the sound of a car motor came up behind him, and he glanced around, hopeful. A small van was a ways behind him, and he stuck out his thumb, praying the person would stop.

It didn't, seeming to go faster as it passed him. He swore loudly, angrily flipping the person off.

The next car that came by did stop, however, which was a blessed relief. He may have been fit and durable before Haven, but he'd started getting soft, especially since his solitary confinement.

"Where're ya headed?" the man driving the car asked, rolling down the window. He was driving a large truck with several planks of lumber strapped to the back.

"London," Grimmjow said, praying he wasn't heading the opposite direction.

"You're in luck. It's straight ahead. Hop in."

He grinned and opened the door. Grimmjow climbed in, and the man raised his eyebrows when he saw the lack of shoes.

"You sure are packin' light, for a hitch-hiker." Grimmjow shrugged, trying to look sheepish.

"I was going to try backpacking across the country. But I started off late, and then someone stole all my stuff in the middle of the night, my bag, my clothes, my shoes..."

"That's rough," the man said, running a hand down his greying beard. "It's a sorry state, having people steal from the homeless. Or the adventurous traveler who's sleeping," he added quickly, glancing at Grimmjow, probably hoping he hadn't offended him.

Grimmjow guessed he made a suspicious enough character, with bad hair and bad clothes and a rather shady cover story, but at least he didn't have the blue hair and eye makeup that he so favored. That would hardly make this man want to trust him.

_I already look like a felon_, he thought, then smirked, because he actually was. Just one with higher tastes than most. _If only grandpa knew his failed backpacker was really one of the most dangerous men in England, _he thought, then frowned.

_Used _to be one of the most dangerous, anyways. Now he was a convict, playing puppet for the government without so much as a clue as to the state of the criminal world, or the normal one, for that matter. He didn't even know the date.

The ride was quiet, and a little awkward, but he couldn't bother himself with making small talk.

How was he supposed to catch 45? Sure, he was in London, if he thought about it, which was a huge help, yet at the same time was a royal pain. It wasn't like London was freakin' huge or anything. It was possible to hide from everyone for months in that place, even without marvelous and shady connections.

The truck slowed, and Grimmjow blinked, glancing around.

"Well, here ya go," the man said, and Grimmjow stared at an unfamiliar sprawl of shops and apartments. In the last few years, London had spread out, engulfing the surrounding suburbs, and he supposed that this area had popped up while he was imprisoned.

"Thanks," he grunted, hopping out and setting his shoulders, trying not to succumb to the dark feeling in his stomach. It was never good to see a city you knew so well change on you the moment you leave.

It was slow going, walking down the streets, but it gave him time to adjust. London's look may have changed, but deep down, it was still the same.

He paused at a convenience store, glancing at a paper stand. He flicked his eyes down the front page, ignoring the bold headline of a politician being in an affair and a feel good piece about the community, then froze. He snapped his eyes back to the top of the page, feeling sick.

_'March 16th, 2014.'_

2014? _2014_?

He shook his head, feeling suddenly angry. Everything was a mess, and he really just wanted to punch someone's lights out.

It had been two years since he'd been arrested. He, Grimmjow Jeagerjacques, had lost _two years_ of his life because of his own stupidity and because of 45 being a psychopath and setting him up for some stupid, unfathomable reason to anyone except for him.

He paused as the thought hit him- he was now _twenty-seven. _That suddenly seemed old to him, especially since just a few seconds ago, he had been twenty-five. He turned away from the paper, shoving his hands in his pockets. This...this was absolutely ridiculous! There was no way...how could he get that time back? There were no surgeries or medications and bought half lives could never really compare to the real thing.

He walked faster, chewing his cheek to keep from exploding. The area was becoming more familiar, which was a comfort mostly lost in the face of his rage. He let himself be swept away in the impossibility of the task, sulking as he settled back into the city. Eventually, he perked up enough appreciate the city, and the people inside it. Big cities always had this affect on him, whether it was New York, London or Istanbul, with the noise and the vast resources and the rude, short tempered people who were ready to stick a shoe between your legs if you irritated them.

Essentially, Grimmjow's kind of people.

He sauntered through the place, glad no one really care that he looked like a vagabond, or that he had no shoes, or that his expression was a feral snarl. They simply slogged on, not giving him the time of day.

He paused in front of a store, shrugging as he went in. It was a shoe store, specializing in not especially classy tennis shoes. A bored looking woman stood behind the cash register, her tag saying _'Hi, I'm Claire! Glad to help you!' _pinned to her vest. When he walked in, she blinked in surprise, then frowned.

"Uhm, sir, we can't serve you here." She had a rougher accent, and when she said 'sir', it was laden with sarcasm. Grimmjow turned to her, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows.

"Why?"

"No shirt, no shoes, no service." The woman chomped her gum matter of factly, and he tried not to get himself thrown back into jail for assault.

"But it's a shoe store," he said, grinning and turning on his long since used charm. Hopefully, it would have still serve some effect, even though he looked frightful.

"Yeah, so?"

"Surely you're gonna let me buy myself a pair of shoes. I mean, that's the point, right?"

She pressed her lips together, looking away. Her large earring swung, and he listened to some annoying pop song for a second before she sighed.

"Alright, then. Just be quick."

He flashed her a smile and headed to the back of the aisles before she could get a good look at his rumpled clothing. He grabbed a pair of slip-ons that looked about his size, then pulled them on, cursing when they pinched his feet.

"Excuse me," Claire said, making him turn sharply. She was a little farther down the aisle where she seemed to be straightening boxes, but it looked more like she was trying to gape at him. "Are you French?"

"Uh, why?" he said, feeling suddenly worried. Had the papers done an article on his when he'd been taken in? Could this irritating woman have identified him from two year old papers?

"Well, you've got a slight accent, and, you know, you just said something in French."

He blinked, not having realized he had done either.

_I've gotten sloppy,_ he thought, trying not to scowl.

"Uh, yeah. Born 'n raised," he said, shrugging. She nodded, looking interested, and he turned back to the shoes, grabbing a pair of brown sandals.

"So, are you, like, one of those super earthy types?" Claire asked, edging closer. He closed his eyes, stood up, tried out the shoe. Grimmjow just did _not_ have time for this.

"Nah, I just had a problem with my shoes." He gave an 'end of story' type of smile, and considered the sandal. It wasn't exactly the best fit he'd ever had, but it'd certainly do, considering he'd not be wearing them for very long, and he had a shop clerk becoming far, far too friendly with him.

She took another step towards him, and he slipped the shoe off, putting it back in the box before she could get closer.

"I'd like these," he said quickly, and was satisfied to see her disappointment.

"Oh. Well, I better go, uh, ring you up."

Claire totalled his price, and he handed her the bills, exhaling as he took back his change. He put the shoes on, put the box back in the bag she handed him and headed out without so much as a smile.

He sighed, glancing around, glad that he was only a few blocks away from his old flat.

The sky started to darken into a sultry grey, and Grimmjow stuck his head down, scowling. His hair was in his eyes, and the crappy over shirt the doctors had given his wasn't doing much to cut the wind. He was headed to a slummier district, where the graffiti was more expansive, and the once prim white paint had started to crack on the building walls. Grimmjow reached a break in the walls and turned, heading into a small alleyway. A metal set of stairs lead up to an apartment. He smirked at the dull black address, which was both an old joke and an old kick in the teeth. _366 Bromes._

_Six times six, six, and then six letters,_ Grimmjow thought, followed by _Man I was a nut._

He climbed up to the second landing, pausing halfway up. He checked a loose panel in the wall that he had personally made, and if no one had disturbed it, there would be a key he'd copied years back. And under the false bottom of the paper box, a gun Grimmjow had used many a time.

_Good times, _he thought wryly, casually opening the door, gun in hand.

He thought he heard a rustle, and edged towards the bedroom. The apartment hadn't changed much, the awful sofa was still pressed up against the front wall, though the cheap table had been moved to the center of the room. New chairs had been added, and a few papers were on the fridge. He paused, catching sight of a person's shadow before turning into the tiny bedroom. A woman stared at him, freckled face blank with shock.

It looked like she had been in the middle of getting ready when he walked in, considering the rumpled state of her blonde hair and clothes, but upon hearing him and thrown herself onto the bed in an effort to get something. She glared at him fiercely, a look of pure disdain, irritation and reproach replacing the surprise.

"What?" she snarled, and had to admit, he was a little impressed. She straightened, indignant. "I asked you a question! You storm into my flat, point a gun in my face like a freakin' neanderthal, and I want to bloody know why!" Grimmjow laughed, keeping the gun leveled.

"A guy just barges in here, pointing a gun at you and you just yell at 'im. Talk about balls."

"Yeah? You know what else takes a lot of balls?"

"Squatting in a dangerous man's house?" he asked evenly, and the casual way he said it made her pause. She looked a little taken aback, blinking with her mouth open for a retort that wouldn't come Obviously, she was furiously running through her list of dangerous people.

Grimmjow raised the gun a little higher, so that it pointed between her eyes.

"Now, get out."

"What?"

"Get _out_ of my _apartment_," he said slowly, trying to not grit his teeth.

"Whaddaya mean _'get out? _This place is mine! I pay every month for this place-"

"Then I applaud your legality. Grab your crap and go before I toss you through the window."

"What, you want me to just run out into the street?"

"Preferably with your stuff. It saves me a trip to the dump."

_"What!" _she squawked, jumping to her feet, which wasn't very impressive. She was much shorter than him, though the rage billowing out of her was enough for two people twice her size. "

"One minute," he growled, gun still in hand. "One minute to pack up and leave."

"You can't-"

"Fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fifty-six..."

With a loud curse, she stormed to the closet, hissing obscenities and growling under her breath. The woman grabbed what few objects were the in closet, shoving them in a large bag. She grabbed her shoes and then hurried to the bathroom. He counted aloud to irritate her, which seemed to work as she became more and more frenzied as she worked.

When he reached zero, he pointed the gun to the door.

"Now, get out," he snarled, and she glared at him.

"I haven't even gotten all my stuff yet!"

In the minute he'd given her, the woman had managed to fill two bags and sling several things over her shoulders. He noticed that she had a pair of dress shoes and a power suit hanging out the bag in her hand, and wondered why she was living in this dump if she could afford such nice clothes.

"Sucks for you, mate," he said, and she scowled, shoving past him.

_"Pig,"_ she snarled, and he responded with _"Cow". _In the moment before the door closed, he caught the vicious glare she sent him, which kind of impressed him. She certainly was rather fearless. She had to know that most other people who stormed into a woman's home, looking wild with a gun in hand would hardly have given her the chance to live.

He locked the door, turned back to the room for a closer inspection.

Thankfully, the woman had kept it clean. There was hardly even any dust, which was a pleasant turn of events. There was also some food in the fridge; milk, eggs, some yogurt, apples and a pack of ham, as well as some bread, peanut butter and pretzels in the cupboard. The bathroom had been stripped of all toiletries, with exception of a bottom of shampoo, which he found to be excessively irritating. He hadn't figured in getting a brand new set of soaps, washrags and the like when he planned for settling back into his previous routine, though he had prepared himself for the chance that he'd have to get more clothes.

Grimmjow walked back into the bedroom, sighing slightly, feeling waves of exhaustion start to flood him, now that he was back in his old place. It had been a long day, full of much more physical exertion than he'd been used to. Sitting around in a cell with absolutely nothing to do for weeks on end kind of did that to you.

He stripped down the bed and tossed the used blankets and sheets to the side, wondering how that woman had gotten into his apartment, and why she'd said that she was paying for it. He had set up a special account that automatically paid his rent every month when he first bought the place, as he could easily spend weeks in other countries at the drop of a hat, and didn't like the hassle of having to find a new place every time he came back to London. Grimmjow had actually be renting out the apartment for four years now, no, he corrected himself after a pause, six years.

The landlord may not have been the most _honorable_ person Grimmjow knew, but he certainly wasn't about to sell an apartment out from under someone who had faithfully been paying rent for years. And who might just come after him with a baseball bat and knock all his teeth out when they found out.

A flutter of irritation and anger worked its way through his exhaustion as he moved over to the window, not sparing much time for his lovely view of the opposite wall of the alley. He opened it then moved back into the main room, opening the cabinet and grabbing a spare blanket. Grimmjow carted it back to the bedroom then flopped onto the bed, tossing it over him.

As Grimmjow drifted off, he felt a small smile on his face. Finally, he was released back into the city, into the chaos.

_**AN Oh, Grimmjow, what lovely people you invariably meet. XD  
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_**So, as usual, tell me what you think! Your comments always help~  
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	3. Obviously Not a People Person

_**AN _**oh good word it's been a month again. BUT. I don't blame this one entirely on myself. I blame the notebook I was using. I was just so blocked, trying to use the ratty thing, but then I switched to another one and BAM. INSPIRATION.**_  
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The sharp sound of a backfiring car woke Grimmjow, making him sit up abruptly. He looked around blearily, grabbed the gun and edged to the window. Outside two men got out of a moving truck, walking around to the back and opening it up to reveal a pile of collapsed cardboard boxes. He sighed, shaking his head and lowering the gun.

His time in Haven had made him acutely used to the quiet, as the padded walls and soft soled shoes the doctors wore didn't offer much in the way of noise. He had noticed that when he first walked into London, it seemed rather loud, but this...If every backfiring car made him jump out of his skin, he'd have a lot of problems later on.

Grimmjow rested on the window sill, inspecting the little view offered. It seemed to be late morning of the following day, and it was also raining. He sighed, not feeling especially rested and rather sore.

_What on earth's happening to me?_ he wondered, heading out into the kitchen. The clock on the microwave told him it was almost nine, which was definitely _not_ a good sign. He had gone to bed just after seven the previous day, which meant he'd been sleeping about fourteen hours, and he still felt under rested.

_Haven sure did screw me up good,_ he thought, rummaging through the fridge. Not only had he gotten sloppy in his cover stories and naturally grown weaker, Grimmjow also had a screwy sleep schedule. Before being arrested, he had been able to operate on a sporadic and often sparse amount of sleep. Now he'd have to utterly retrain himself.

Munching on a piece of bread smeared with peanut butter, he turned on the shower, thinking up his game plan. He needed clothes, food, various house-hold items as well as more serious things, like guns and C4. And that was just to settle back into his basic comfort zone. He also needed to know why that woman had been in his flat, what the neighbors thought had happened to him, and more importantly, what the criminals thought had happened to him. It was vital that he find out whether or not people knew he'd been arrested and locked up in haven, and what they knew about 45.

And of course, he needed to get his hair done. Everyone he knew would laugh him out of town if they saw him, scowling at himself in the mirror scowling at the frightful mess before him. His hair looked like it have quite literally been hacked off with a butter knife, and there were shadows in his face that hadn't been there before. Plus, his eyes looked darker, a little more reckless. In his opinion, this was because he wasn't allowed to cause random chaos in Haven, which had created a serious withdrawal. The only real solution was to make havoc, and quick.

_The more I think about it, the more it seems like I've been ripped off. Getting out of Haven alone was_ _**not**_ _worth all this,_ he thought, stripping down and jumping into the shower.

Grimmjow showered fast and then dried off, eying his discarded clothes with distaste. But since he had nothing else, he picked them up and brushed off the dirt. When he was dressed, he looked at himself in the mirror, then groaned because it was still that horrendous.

He scowled at himself, then walked out of the bathroom. Grimmjow rifled through the drawers in the main room, and was rewarded with a pad of paper and a pen. He dropped himself into a chair, and scribbled down his shopping list. When he was done, he seemed to have everything from vegetables to a computer. Thankfully, his bank account (or at least, the one the police had found) had been reactivated and he had a new government one. Grimmjow would _not_ be running out of money any time soon.

Grimmjow added a backpack to the bottom of the list, then got up. He put on his shoes, grabbed his keys and gun and headed out.

He walked over to the shopping district, watching, listening, trying to see how things had changed. New music was playing on the radio, stores had gone out of business, and others had risen in their place. He sighed, wondering about the changes the underground world had faced.

Slouching into the supermarket, he wondered how he was supposed to cart everything back to his flat. He made a mental note to buy a car, then headed for the clothes. If he had to stay in those awful, dirty and irritating clothes that didn't fit any longer than necessary, he'd break something.

He searched through the shirts and pants, privately thinking that he'd much rather be going to an outlet and buying ridiculously expensive jeans by the cartload, rather than thumbing through the racks at Asda. But the chances of him being let into one of those places as he was were less than zero, so he figured baby steps were in order.

At the end of an hour, he had filled a cart with a new wardrobe, or at least the foundation for something much better, and then headed back towards the toiletries. A few hours and a couple hundred pounds later, Grimmjow was walking down the street, hands full of shopping bags containing the basic supplies for living. He was attracting a lot of strange looks, and he had the feeling that he better call a cab before some poor sucker tried to mug him and piss him off even more.

Before that, though, he had to change.

Grimmjow headed into the nearest public restroom he could find, locked himself in the handicapped stall and yanked off his clothes. The actions of changing at the speed of light in a bathroom stall were so comfortingly familiar that it made him smile. The last time he'd done this, he'd been on the run from some gang in Florida. Grimmjow had had to change from khaki shorts, a tacky polo and straw fedora to a three piece suit and scram in about two minutes, or have the gangsters catch him and make his face look like it'd gone through a blender. Thankfully, he'd managed to evade them, and even now, two and a half years later, her had to pat himself on the back for pulling it off and getting on a plane before the gang even realized he wasn't in town anymore.

Shoving his previous attire in one of the shopping bags (he'd been tempted to toss it in the trashcan, but he figured it could always use it as a gag later, if need be), Grimmjow exited the stall, checking himself in the mirror for stray tags. There was still a sticker on his jeans, which he ripped off before smirking at himself.

He was wearing dark jeans and a black pinstriped button down shirt, open to reveal a white shirt. Grimmjow had to say he looked kind of great, so long as you disregarded that awful mop called hair. That was just hideous. Maybe Grimmjow didn't care if he got blood or dirt or oil or whatever all over his clothes on a job, but he most certainly liked looking good.

He exited the bathroom and hailed a cab, piling all of his bags in.

"Where ya want ta go?" the cabby asked after casting a look at his numerous bags. He quickly listed off the address, hoping that the place was still in business.

A short ride later, Grimmjow climbed out of the cab to stand before a hair salon. Smiling, he dragged his bags inside, ready to feel like himself again.

"Hello," the receptionist said, standing behind a dark marble counter. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, he said, glancing around. The place had been expanded since he'd last gotten his hair done, and there were predictably a lot more people, but he kept his eyes peeled for the man who owned the place, Shaun Bic. He was an old friend of Grimmjow's, if he really had such things. The receptionist didn't look impressed and sighed through his nose, like he'd had enough of people who loved walking in to waste his time.

"I'm sorry sir, but this salon is an _appointment only-"_

"Yeah, yeah, just tell Bic that Jack Grim is here."

"Jack Grim?" he asked skeptically, and Grimmjow tore his eyes away from the dozen of people getting their hair trimmed, lightened and washed.

"Yes, hurry! He's gonna be pissed if you wait," he said, and the man narrowed his eyes a moment before walking away, wasting a 'Wait here, please' over his shoulder.

_Connard,_ he thought irritatedly, folding his arms. People with a tiny pay grade just _loved_ giving him a hard time these days...not that he ever inspired a desire to give him an easier time in people in the first place. His rough, sarcastic and contrary attitude was to thank for that.

About a minute later, a thin man wearing a black button down shirt appeared, walking in front of the receptionist. He beamed at Grimmjow, opening his arms.

"Mon frère," Grimmjow smiled, and the man laughed.

"What are you talking about, you have no friends!" Shaun retorted, shaking Grimmjow's hand. "Ugh, look at you, hair's a mess! What on _earth_ have you been doing, Monsieur Grim?"

"Lots of clever little things," he said, noticing how the receptionist seemed to go pale at the thought of having almost insulted what was obviously his boss's good friend.

"Yes, yes, come on back! Christopher, don't be an idiot, mark Monsieur Grim as a special client. Whenever he comes in, he gets his hair done, yes? Good."

Grimmjow followed Shaun back, smirking slightly. He had originally known Shaun as merely a fantastic hairstylist, but when Grimmjow had been hired to protect a money launderer, Shaun had turned out to be her cousin, and by the end they both owed him a fortune, not to mention their lives. On top of that, Grimmjow had gotten an amazing stylist willing to do his hair at any time, half price.

"Now, where have you been for two years?" Shaun asked as he draped a cover over Grimmjow's front. He shrugged as Shaun muttered over the state of his hair.

"Were you _trying_ to look like a homeless person?" Shaun asked, and Grimmjow laughed.

"Naw, I was pretty pissed to find what they did, too. At least you didn't see me a few hours ago. Geez, it was awful."

When Grimmjow walked out of the salon, he was smiling. He was himself again; his hair was blue, he was wearing his own clothes and he had a job to do.

It just happened to be taking down the greatest, craziest killer of the century.

Next on Grimmjow's list was to buy some electronics. He _definitely_ needed a phone (if not three), a laptop and a few other miscellaneous things which he could get pretty easily. But there was still one thing he needed that he couldn't just get from a store or a dealer - a partner. As much as he didn't like it, the fact didn't change; he simply could not do this on his own.

Grimmjow muttered darkly in French, pushing his way into an electronics store. Without any preamble, he selected three cell phones, then headed to the computer section. He examined the models, casting hostile looks to any employees that started heading towards him. One man was persistent, however, and he sighed, figuring he should cut to the chase.

"Hi, are you finding everything-"

"Yup. I wanna buy this computer," he said, pointing at a promising model. The man blinked in surprise, then shrugged.

"Well, alright then! Need anything else?"

"Just these phones," he said, pointing.

They walked through the aisles and the man stepped behind the cash register.

"Three phones?" he asked, and Grimmjow sighed mentally.

"They're for my kids," Grimmjow grunted, and the man nodded, raising his eyebrows and muttering "Well, _sorry..."_

By the time he got back to his flat, his arms were sore from carrying all of his shopping bags, not to mention it had begun to rain. He unlocked his door and shouldered his way in, dropping the bags on the table.

He still felt tired, and was still hungry, despite having grabbed something to eat off of a stand on the side of the road. Grimmjow really just wanted to go back to bed, but he still had to unpack everything.

Groaning, he stood up and opened his laptop, setting it up between emptying his bags. When he got the internet running, Grimmjow began a search. There weren't very many people in the world Grimmjow trusted, and even fewer that he was willing to work with. Ulquiorra Schiffer was at the top of this list. Even if he couldn't help Grimmjow personally, he'd be able to find someone that would.

He skimmed around, scanning articles and tabs until he caught sight of an article about England's ambassadors directly affecting the economy. Halfway through, he found Ulquiorra's name, right behind '_ambassador to Germany'._

"Strike me blind" he muttered, shaking his head. Ulquiorra certainly gone up in the world, in just a few short years, too. Grimmjow gave a bitter smile when he considered their two very different lives.

He grabbed a phone and punched in the number at the bottom of the article, waiting for it to ring. He was redirected a few times, but then finally got Ulquiorra's secretary.

"Hello, this is Gray Jeags," he said in a heavy American accent. "My secretary was supposed to call earlier but he just didn't have the time-"

"Uhm, Mr. Jeags," the woman said, sounding a little bemused, "I apologize, but I'm not familiar-"

"You're not? Well, of course! I just recently became the head of the company, not surprising you didn't hear about it, being all the way over in Massachusetts! But Schiffer knows me, I just need to get a message to him?"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but Ambassador Schiffer is very busy-"

"Yeah, yeah, I believe it! Just send a note to him, okay?" He rolled his eyes as the secretary mumbled something into the phone.

"Alright, here it is. Tell him I'd like to have lunch on the sixth, at the Cassiopeia."

"Lunch tomorrow at the Cassiopeia?"

"That's right. At twelve-thirty. He knows where the place is."

"I'll get the message to him, but I can't guarantee that the ambassador will be able to make it-"

"Oh, that's fine, that's fine, I just want him to know I'm here. Thank you now. Buh-bye."

He clicked the phone shut, mentally tagging it for strictly government related calls. He stood up, sighing.

Ulquiorra may have become the German ambassador for England, but he'd always make time for his former gang associates, this Grimmjow had no doubt. At the mere mention of his old cover name and the restaurant where they swung all their deals, he was sure that Ulquiorra would come running...or at least, the Ulquiorra version of it.

A few years ago, Grimmjow and Ulquiorra had been partners, for lack of a better term. They had both been in the inner circle of the Swords, which was large and very powerful group of criminals in London. In its prime, it had been a borderline mob, its influence stretching out across the country. There were about ten people in the inner circle, and of those only a couple were able to work with Grimmjow, of which Ulquiorra was the prime candidate. He not only had a cold, apathetic and practical view of things, making it virtually impossible for Grimmjow to rile him up, but he also wasn't afraid of smashing anything from an elbow to a gun in Grimmjow's face, should he act out of line.

But then the Swords were rumbled. Somehow an average police officer had caught the finer details of one little kidnapping, and then everything sprang apart. In one short week, they went from being the most feared force behind the mob to scraps, high class criminals scrambling to evade what seemed like every government force imaginable. In the end, their leader, Sosuke Aizen, tried to make a run for it, but was caught and executed for his various crimes.

Their numbers decimated, half of the inner circle either dead or in Haven, and everyone reeling from the attack, the Swords dissolved into a bunch of people with a grudging respect for each other, as well as a penchant for committing serious crimes.

This had been about two years before Grimmjow had been put in Haven. After the gang broke apart, everyone had gone their own way, though most had stayed in London. He had worked his own connections and traveled the world more extensively than he had before, sharpening his skills and gaining followers for himself. Ulquiorra had ironically climbed his way up the government, using his more open mind towards crime to aid the country as he saw fit.

Grimmjow finished unpacking, then made the bed, stretching clean sheets and blankets over the mattress, then topping it all off with pillows. Scooping up the used blankets and pillows into a laundry basket he found in the closet, he headed for the community laundry room downstairs.

While he put in the load, Grimmjow ignored one of the other tenants and made a mental note to talk to the landlord. He wanted to get to the bottom of the blonde woman had been in his flat, and fast. He trekked back upstairs, surfing the internet until he could go back down and switch his laundry over to the dryer. dropping onto his mattress at first opportunity.

When he awoke the next morning, Grimmjow felt considerably better than he had the day before. He was no longer sore, and finally felt decently rested. Grimmjow stretched and padded into the kitchen, glancing at the clock. It said it was almost eight, which meant he had four hours to kill before he needed to head down to the Cassiopeia.

Thankfully he still had to go to the landlord's, which could probably take awhile. That man certainly knew how to talk a person in circles.

Grimmjow showered, dressed and styled his hair, though he left off the eye make up. He smirked at himself then headed back into the kitchen, making himself a proper breakfast. Once he was done, Grimmjow cleaned up and headed out to the landlord's house.

The landlord didn't live far from Grimmjow's apartment, set directly behind the apartment complex. It didn't really surprise him that he chose to live in his own, separate building, as apposed to having to deal with the crackwhores and low level thugs who usually rented from him.

He banged on the door, earning a '_Hold on!'_ from inside. He waited, listening to the sound of footsteps hurrying to the door, and then it opened.

"Hello-?"

His curious expression didn't change when he saw it was Grimmjow, though he did smile like they were old friends.

"Hey, I thought I heard something about a you comin-"

"Cut the crap. I'm here to talk about my flat."

"Oh, don't tell me you want a lower rate," he sighed, shaking his head.

The landlord was an average looking man by the name of Kisuke Urahara. He was casually well dressed as usual, an untucked button down shirt, slightly wrinkled dark slacks and socks but no shoes. He had relatively long hair and a bland smile, and it always seemed that at least half of his tenants were law breakers. Grimmjow had never heard of Urahara himself having a run in with the law, but he'd always had the suspicion that Urahara not only deflected blame and incriminating evidence from himself, he also gave little _hints _or _suggestions_ for various cases the police were working on.

Grimmjow narrowed his eyes, thinking this was a pretty ballsy comment on his part, as he was quite possibly a minute from getting his face punched in.

"No, I don't care about the rate. What I _care_ about is the chick you let live in my apartment while I was gone."

Grimmjow had worked out a sort of deal with Urahara when he'd started renting from him almost six years ago. He didn't usually live in the flat, as it was more like a backup place to live, if not a backup to the backup. Usually he lived in a nicer place in the richer parts of town, unless he was on one of his trips, generally out of the country which could last anywhere from a few days to almost a month. Urahara knew he wasn't always there, but didn't care what Grimmjow did, so long as he didn't bring the police down on him and kept paying rent.

"I let live in your...? Oh, you mean the short blonde woman with freckles! The one with the bad temper, mm, I thought she was living with you."

"Thought she was - brûle en enfer, like I would just let this woman live in my place!"

"Really? I thought it was possible, but she didn't look like she was squatting. And you kept paying for it, she even had a key."

Grimmjow shot him a look and rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure if the man was lying or not, but he didn't think it was likely. It was a stupid plan in the first place, bound to blow up when Grimmjow finally came back. Unless Urahara had known about him going to Haven...

"Look," he spat, glancing at his new watch, "I don't have time for this. Unless you see me leading a person in and handing them the freakin' key, you kick them out of my flat, got it?"

"Of course, no problem."

He turned on his heel, stalking away as Urahara called "It was great seeing you again!" behind him. It had gone better than he'd expected, though it didn't do much to settle his nerves. He'd said the woman had a key, yet there was almost no way anyone knew about the spare in the wall panel. Urahara probably wouldn't have taken the risk of playing it innocent, in case Grimmjow caught the woman and she squealed on him. Someone else had let her in and took her rent every month.

He scowled as he caught a cab, giving the cabby the name of a small cafe that had an arms smuggler working out the back. When he walked in, the smuggler had given him a large smile, saying "It's been a while since I've seen you here. Lose all your toys in a fight?" He'd shrugged and dropped into a chair, then got to business. By the end of an hour, Grimmjow had purchased enough guns to make him feel comfortable, as well as put in an order for some explosives.

Grimmjow walked to the Cassiopeia, knowing he was early, almost fifteen minutes so, but he knew that Ulquiorra would be at least eight minutes early himself. He absolutely hated walking in on time to see Ulquiorra looking bored and vaguely irritated that he'd had to wait, which had happened him far too often for his liking. It was one of those weird mind games Ulquiorra liked to play with everyone, a subtle display of refined dominance that made Grimmjow want to rip his hair out. Just as he was nearing the restaurant however, a man stepped over to him, touching his shoulder.

"Hey, sorry, you gotta light?"

"Shove off," Grimmjow grunted, trying to shoulder past him, but the man gripped his shoulder, body tensing even though his voice was still light. Grimmjow paused, getting a good look at the man in case he had to shove a knee into his stomach.

"Come on, it'll only take a sec." Before Grimmjow could say anything, the man pulled out a cigarette and proffered the end to Grimmjow. He scowled at the man, about to say something rude when he noticed the small black four drawn on the end in pen.

"Fine," he sighed, pulling out his lighter and flicking a flame into existence, lighting the cigarette and burning the four away in one go.

"Thanks," the man said, taking a drag and smiling, casually tilting his head over at a black car, sitting by the curb. Grimmjow cast it a look, noting the blacked out windows and running engine. He shrugged at the man and leisurely walked to the car, opened the back door and climbed in.

"Well, aren't you slick," he said sarcastically, turning to look at Ulquiorra as the car pulled away.

_**AN Yay, Ulquiorra! I just..I love him so much, he's a dear. An apathetic, boss little dear. XD  
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_**Tell me what you think of the chapter! I enjoyed writing it a lot, and I hope you enjoyed reading it.  
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	4. Good Old Mates

_**AN Ack, I'm so sorry I'm so late! I just don't know what happened, I'm suddenly incredibly late and asdfjkl; whatever enjoy the chapter.  
><strong>_

Ulquiorra gave a small scoff, rolling his green eyes.

"Being 'slick' wasn't my intention. I couldn't just walk into a public place and eat lunch with a criminal. Even people who didn't know you would surely recognize me. Regardless, what is it you want to talk about?" Ulquiorra asked, looking rather unimpressed with Grimmjow.

"I've...come through the rabbit hole, and wanted to tell you what I've seen," he said, and Ulquiorra turned his head, looking just a little more interested. Back when they'd been a part of the Swords, they had set up a sort of code about important people and places, all using references from Lewis Carroll's children's book. The fact that he was using it now said that he had something serious to say.

"You've been gone for two years, and then decide to flag down an important ambassador, just so you can tell a story?" His refined accent was clipped and cold, and Grimmjow decided that maybe Ulquiorra hadn't been interested so much as irritated.

"Not quite."

"Unless it's of astonishing importance, I'd suggest you never try this stunt again. Wasting my time is ill advised, Jeagerjacques."

"Like I've ever cared about wasting your time," Grimmjow scoffed, shifting himself so that he was sprawling across the seat. Ulquiorra's mouth thinned in displeasure, and Grimmjow had to struggle not to smirk too widely at him. Here Ulquiorra was, looking all posh and proper and playing the role of ambassador like he was a king, when only a couple of years ago he'd been a ruthless gangster that waded through blood and lies and had worn black lipstick with the best of them.

_My, how things change,_ he thought, then asked "So, you got any water for me or something? I specified 'restaurant' for a reason."

"So, Guatemala hasn't improved your manners a stitch," Ulquiorra sighed, handing him a water bottle, which he took with a smirk.

"Wasn't in Guatemala," he said, then took a swig of water. Ulquiorra cocked his eyebrow, the closest thing to surprise he usually ever showed.

"Interesting," he murmured, folding his arms. "I heard it from very good sources."

"Sources kind of feel the need to spit something up when their target pops off the map. 'Specially when they think their employer might lock 'em in a dungeon if they mess up."

"So, if it wasn't Guatemala..."

"I never actually left the country. At least, that's what I'm guessing."

Grimmjow watched Ulquiorra process this, hiding his quiet smirk.

"Is this truly as ominous as it seems?"

"Probably more than."

"I see. What is it, then?" Ulquiorra asked, switching to German. Grimmjow scowled - he hadn't spoken German in over two years. He knew that there was the chance of unwanted listeners, and it was smart to encode their conversation even further, but he didn't want to look like an idiot in the first five minutes of seeing Ulquiorra.

"I told you, I popped back from the rabbit hole. But it was the crappiest Wonderland _I've_ ever seen," he said in French, knowing that Ulquiorra was fluent in at least five languages.

"I see...and you weren't with the Queen of Hearts?" he asked, using their old nickname for a mob boss living in London.

"Naw. More like the White King. Geez, they weren't kidding about him being an old goat."

This was the head of the British law enforcement, who directly oversaw the admittance of criminals into Haven. Ulquiorra's mouth pursed, and he looked skeptical.

"Not possible. I would have heard if you were taken in by his noble Highness."

Grimmjow paused, struggling with one of the words Ulquiorra used. He finally remembered it, then sighed.

"You did. I just wasn't called the Cheshire Cat."

"Then what were you called?"

"The Mad Hatter."

"No. No." Ulquiorra leaned back, eyes narrowed. Grimmjow shrugged, water bottle sloshing as he waved his hand.

"And now that I'm back, I've gotta hunt down the real McCoy."

"You can't be serious."

"You think I'd waste my time coming up with a lie like this? It's true, I've gotta go get him! It's my get out of jail free card."

"So...that was you," Ulquiorra said, and Grimmjow could see the puzzle fitting together in Ulquiorra's mind, and his frustration at not having all the pieces. "You were taken in for the Six Day Killings."

"Genesis Murders," he corrected, voice cold.

Ulquiorra gave him a look, and Grimmjow scowled, not wanting to explain but knowing he'd have to.

"That's what he called them. The Genesis Murders, the sick freak."

"I don't see how they have anything to do with the Bible," Ulquiorra told Grimmjow, and he shook his head, seeing it all over again. His own revulsion and rage, mixed with shock and confusion as 45 laughed, just about the only thing in the room not covered in blood. He had always been that careful, though. Grimmjow had appreciated it when he'd worked with the man, but when he had been, all he could do was curse it.

"'A murder a day, for six days,'" he said, repeating 45's words. "'And then, on the seventh day he ended the work which he had made; and he rested from all his work which he had made.'"

Ulquiorra was silent for a moment, probably awed by just how twisted the homicide now seemed.

"And he locked you away, and saw it was good," he whispered, and Grimmjow gave a harsh laugh.

"Che, yeah, that's about right. _Ça me fait chier_, him just walking out like he was a normal civilian! Course, my hands were totally tied. Got me to touch the body and everything." He swore, his anger sparking again. He'd spent months dwelling over the whole thing, thinking how something simple like screening the call would have saved him from so much.

"And now you're out, trying to catch him. Your whole...situation explains so much. After you had been captured, everyone thought they were safe, but the crimes kept happening. They covered their blunder by saying it was a terrorist group and not just an individual, but that seemed off."

"To just you or to everyone from the old club?" he asked, referring to the remaining Sword members.

The corner of Ulquiorra's mouth lifted ever so slightly, and he said "To everyone important. But what I want to know is who ordered you to hunt him down, and why you specifically? What organization orchestrated it, I didn't hear of anything like this."

"It seemed like it was all hush-hush to me," Grimmjow said, shrugging. "And I don't know who organized it, some of the docs just started talking to me, asking me if I wanted revenge. They said something like me knowing him better than anyone else. Obviously, they didn't realize that there were still some other shady individuals floating about."

"Are you allowed to kill him?" Ulquiorra asked, ignoring his last comment, and Grimmjow laughed again.

"Naw, I just have to find him. It's not like _that's_ going to be impossible, though."

"Grimmjow, why did you contact me? To let me know that our dear Mad Hatter is out in the open, what was the point? It feels like you could have gone about it in a much safer way."

"To...ask for a favor," Grimmjow admitted, the dark humor fading from his voice. Ulquiorra raised an eyebrow, making Grimmjow scowl. He hated this bit, where he stopped the big charade and confessed that he couldn't do things alone. Ulquiorra always gave him hell for it, in his quiet, acidic way.

"I can't do this alone, I figured that out real quick. I need a partner," he said bluntly, and Ulquiorra sighed.

"You must know it was a useless gesture, coming to ask me to help you again. I am an _ambassador,_ I've have far too many people watching me to do anything especially risky. And I have no desire to stride back into that life. There was a reason why I went into the government."

"I'm not askin' for _you!"_ Grimmjow barked, scowling. "I need you to find someone. Someone who's quick on their feet, can deal with whatever I throw at them...anyone who can take what's coming. I'd use my old guys, D-roy and Shawlong and them, but that'd throw up some serious alarm bells for 45." Ulquiorra frowned at him, looking unimpressed.

"Surely you can find your own mates, right?"

"I've been out for two years, remember? I don't know who's dead or alive, or who's sold their souls for some dumb reason."

He looked away, about as close as he was ever going to get to saying that he respected and trusted Ulquiorra's judgement. Ulquiorra paused, then nodded.

"I can think of a few people, but then, that's pairing them up with a normal, even tempered person and not a contrary, irritating bugger like you."

"You're too kind, I'm sure."

"I generally am. If that's all, then I suggest we leave things at that. I'll contact you when I line someone up, but otherwise, you can not contact me."

"Yeah, yeah. We've all got a lot of people watching us, that's great. Just let me off at the corner, gov'."

Ulquiorra knocked on the screen separating them and the chauffeur, ordering him to pull up to the curb. He looked back at Grimmjow, switching back into English.

"You better be careful. If you fail at this...he will be virtually impossible to get afterwards."

"Got it," Grimmjow said, opening the door and climbing out. He slammed the door shut, hunching his shoulders at the breeze that had picked up. He started walking away, not casting the sleek black car another glance. In a few seconds, Grimmjow was just another body pushing their way through everyone else.

Despite the cocky and sarcastic attitude he'd shown Ulquiorra, Grimmjow truly was relieved that he'd been able to speak with him. It lessened the feel of being utterly ignorant to the world, and let him feel a little more confident that he'd be able to climb back into his old world. Grimmjow had his flat back, knew that at least one of his old contacts was alive and willing to speak with him, and he had a potential partner in processing. Things were looking up...until he actually thought about finding 45, and then things got a little depressing.

Grimmjow's thoughts began wandering away from his conversation with Ulquiorra and onto more things he needed to properly settle into his flat. A radio would be a good addition, he thought, he could start listening to the news and figuring what the devil was going on. And after he bought that, he could start looking into a few more of his old 'friends'. Maybe they'd have something else good for him.

_**AN oh my gosh i've missed ulqui SO MUCH. But, ah, I'm so excited to have things moving along.  
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	5. What Good Luck

_**AN Whoo, this chapter! I enjoyed writing it a lot, and it came very easily to me, thank goodness XD  
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The next few days were rather uneventful for Grimmjow. He spent them buying more things for his apartment and playing a surprisingly depressing game of catch up, reading every newspaper and decent magazine he could get his hands on. Most of it was drivel he would rather have skipped, but he had learned that the tiniest, most tedious details were often the ones that sold cover stories and bought him the largest shipments of cargo. Plus he figured that several hours a day spent on vapid news articles made up for missing a few minutes every day for two years.

He also spent a lot of time searching for his old contacts, and it turned out that only a handful had been either bagged by the feds or offed by other criminals, none of which were the remaining Swords members. There were only three of them left in the crime circuit, which would be two women and a man (ignoring himself); Neliel Tu Oderschwank, Tia Harribel and Nnoitra Gilga. Technically Harribel wasn't a part of it all, but her activities were questionable enough to make her want to stay a good ways from the law. Nnoitra Grimmjow couldn't really care less about, as he was a backstabbing, blood thirty mongrel, but he had his uses like everyone did. Neliel, though, or Nel, as she preferred to be called, she was someone he really needed to get back into contact with.

He'd had a short termed partnership with her after the whole gang had fallen to the dogs, and she had proved herself to be good under pressure, clever and ready to put a handgun to your head if she thought that would get faster results. In all, he had to say that he rather liked her, though they had both decided after a few jobs that with two fire crackers like them working exclusively together, their plans could blow up in their faces almost as easily as it could all work out. They'd reluctantly parted, though didn't hesitate in calling on each other whenever they needed help. This was part of the reason why it was so troubling to him that he had yet to find her, though he was sure she must be doing some undercover work and wouldn't be leaving behind any noticeable clues.

Still, all of that didn't keep him occupied enough to prevent Grimmjow from leaping on the phone when it rang.

"Yeah?" he asked, excitement pent up in his chest.

"I've found someone," Ulquiorra said, sounding nonchalant. "She said she can meet you today, if you really insist."

"I insist," he said, almost too fast. Ulquiorra paused, probably over analyzing what he'd just said in the space of a second.

"...I see. Since you sound fairly determined to have her on my judgement alone, you should know that you will have to provide nearly everything for her. Food, shelter, that sort of thing. Apparently she has no money and has been staying with a friend, though she has assured me she has all of her own gear."

"Great," Grimmjow said, figuring that for what this woman was going to be paid, she'd better be happy with the couch in his tiny living room for who knew how long, because there was no way he was going to go apartment hunting for her convenience.

"What time and where?" he asked, and three minutes later he was pulling on his coat and heading out the door.

About fifteen minutes later, Grimmjow was standing on the corner of a moderately busy intersection, leaning against a tree. He rifled his pockets, and after a few seconds he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Grimmjow hadn't had one since before he'd been taken in, and it had been one of the things he'd truly missed in Haven, though that might have been more addiction than anything. Cigarettes had been a fanciful dream in Haven, since there was absolutely nothing to light them with for one thing, and also because several of the scientists swore that allowing the criminals to cling to their old habits would counteract all of the efforts to 'mellow them out'.

This was something Grimmjow had cursed about a thousand times a day while he'd been suffering withdrawals.

"Still supporting bad habits, I see," came a low voice from his right, and Grimmjow turned to look at Ulquiorra and the woman that was supposed to be Grimmjow's new partner. He suppressed the snarky retort and waited for him to introduce the woman standing behind him.

"To business, then," Ulquiorra said, sensing his eagerness to be done. "This is Hiyori Sarugaki, your new potential partner in crime, as it were."

The woman stepped into view and the cigarette nearly dropped out of his mouth as he saw just who she was. Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed with interest as he introduced Grimmjow, who was still struggling with this new development.

He shook his head, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman that he had kicked out of his apartment earlier that week. She was having a similar reaction as him, gaping and then glaring angrily at him like she wanted to set fire to his face or something.

Irony, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor.

All he could do was stare at her and wonder _how_. She snarled at him, jaw working as though she was too incensed to speak, though he was sure she'd find her voice soon enough. Grimmjow turned to look at Ulquiorra, face wrinkled in disgust.

"I asked for someone capable, someone who won't curl up and _die _five minutes in, not this runt!" He shook his head, and the woman, Hiyori, nearly exploded with rage.

"_Runt? _That's pretty gutsy of you, why don't you just let me show you-"

He tuned her out as Ulquiorra raised an eyebrow, obviously amused by the whole thing.

"How unusual. You normally don't judge someone right off the bat, Grimmjow. So that means...you've already met."

"She was living in my apartment," he said, and a part of him enjoyed the fact that Hiyori was becoming more and more outraged that both the men before her were not listening to a word she said. "I'm guessing there was some scam going on, someone collecting money from her while I paid the actual rent or something. I came home, there she was and I evicted her."

Ulquiorra gave a '_hmph', _the closest thing to a laugh Grimmjow had ever known him to give.

"Are you going to take her, or am I going to have to continue searching?"

"_C'est le bordel,_" he sighed, a thought that had been going through his mind a lot lately. A part of him wanted to say no, no, _no_, he would _not _let this annoying little midget in on his plans and irritate him all day long, but if Ulquiorra thought she was worth something... It wasn't like this would be the first irritating person he had ever dealt with, though she would certainly be the first one he would be forced to work with closely for an extended period of time. They were to be living together for who knew how long, and Grimmjow had the vague feeling that he might drop her off a dock if she pushed him.

He eyed her warily, trying to get a feel for her. She was short, maybe five foot two if she was lucky, and her face was red from trying to tear him a new one. Her hair was frizzed, she looked like she hadn't had a good night's sleep in a few days (probably because he had stolen her bed) and seemed to be a ticking time bomb in general.

"I don't know if I can work with her," he admitted, and Hiyori gasped in anger.

_"_I should be saying the same thing! You neanderthal, do you have any idea how much _crap _I've had to deal with because of you?"

"Shut it," he said curtly, then turned back to Ulquiorra.

"How'd you hear about her, what kind of work has she done?"

"She's more with the art people, so she'll be able to handle the more subtle things you have in mind," he said, and Grimmjow nodded. 'The art people' was the general term for con artists these days, which he had to admit was promising. That meant she could be relied on to function properly even if their plans fell apart and knew how to come up with a good scheme, as well as work covertly.

"How about more heavy duty stuff?" he asked, chewing on the edge of his cigarette. Ulquiorra nodded and said "She can handle that, too."

Grimmjow thought about it a few seconds more, then sighed.

"Alright. I'll take her. She better be as good as you seem to think," he warned, pointing a finger at Ulquiorra who just looked at him.

"Come on," he told Hiyori, who seemed to have been taken off guard that things had ended so quickly.

"Wai-what? What's going on?"

"I'm taking you," he said clearly, and her glare reappeared.

"Don't treat me as though I'm some cheap rug you're buying at a weekend market!" she snapped, and he rolled his eyes.

"But my dear, that's _exactly _what you are." She burst into protests as he looked back at Ulquiorra, giving a slight nod.

"I'll see how she works out. I'm not gonna be responsible if she ends up in the bottom of a ditch, right?"

"Of course not. It's not like we'd have any ties to her," he said innocently, and Grimmjow nodded again.

"Right. And uh...I owe you one."

"You owe me more than that," Ulquiorra told him, turning and walking away. Grimmjow made a face at his back, irritated at how he always managed to get the last word when it really mattered. He continued walking, Hiyori in tow. Despite her protests, she didn't seem to have a problem with following him across the street, talking, talking, _talking. _It was a little impressive how she could keep up such a fine blend of insults, threats and complaints with him being about as responsive as a brick. Finally, when they were about a block away from the meeting place, he turned to her, grabbing her shoulders.

"_Look,_" he snarled, tired of listening to her, "you _really _need to shut your face before I knock some of your teeth out."

"Like I wouldn't blacken your eye!" she snapped, then muttered "I can't believe that you'd even dare to threaten a lady, anyways," which made him laugh because she was about as far from a 'lady' as a person could possibly get.

He sighed in exasperation, then let go of her, continuing to walk on. Hiyori seemed to be fuming now, and remained blessedly silent until they were about a street away from his flat.

"Where are we going?" she asked suspiciously, and he rolled his eyes again.

"Where do you think, Sherlock? We're going to my flat." Hiyori gasped, outraged yet again.

"You'd really have the balls to take me back to the place that you _kicked me out of? _Unbelievable!"

_Dear heaven and earth, give me the strength not to kill her, _he thought, gritting his teeth as she began a new thread of how despicable a human being he was.

This was just ridiculous, he decided it as he climbed the steps to his door. How desperate had he, 6, one of the most notable criminals of the last decade, to have to rely on some smart mouthed runt who absolutely hated his guts?

_Pretty desperate, _he thought as he opened his door and surveyed the ramshackle attempts to make his life like the luxurious thing it had been before.

**_AN OHMYGOSH HIYORI. I really love her, and now she and Grimmjow are partners XD Will this silliness never cease?_**

**_I always find it a struggle to pick which spelling I want for the arrancar names, because there are so many romanizations. One 'n' or two, do I use an 'r' or an 'l', a 'schw' or a 'schv'? It's all very trying XD  
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**_So, what'd you think of the chapter? I think it opens up a lot of possibilities, which is always good in a story.  
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	6. A Bit of Chit Chat

_**AN Whoo, this chapter. It was a little strange to get out, but I got here in the end.  
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Grimmjow sat at his table, staring at Hiyori, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with her. What _were_ you supposed to do with a foul tempered, loud mouthed midget that had yet to do anything but yell at you and insult everything about you from your hands to your grandparents?

_She is __**so**__ lucky to have Ulquiorra's good word,_ he thought, mood having soured magnificently since he'd met Ulquiorra, not that it had exactly been great before. Having to listen to Hiyori combined with the problems that arose with her being his partner had made him feel bad enough, but then he started to notice that cigarettes weren't as satisfying as he'd remembered. A disgusting taste was left in his mouth, and he got back to his feet, recalling that there had been some instant coffee in one of the cabinets.

He again thought about what good she'd be on a job, heart sinking. She was short, so maybe she could pass off as a teenager should she need to go undercover, but the moment anyone made a comment about her age, she'd fly off the handle and start raving like a lunatic about how they were blind savages and couldn't tell a proper lady even when she was staring them in the face. Hiyori also couldn't be a decent distraction like Nel had been, as she had virtually zero sex appeal, though he supposed if it really came down to it, he could always sic her on someone and go do what ever he had to while they were trying to keep her from biting their ankles. Plus, he had absolutely no idea as to what she could do in the field, though Ulquiorra had thought that she'd be useful.

"_So,"_ Hiyori said, apparently tired of yelling at him. She jumped onto the counter beside him as he pulled down a cup and the instant coffee, and he suppressed a sigh, wondering if she was going to catch a third wind. "Just who _are _you, anyways?"

"Who do you _think_ I am?" he asked, filling the cup and putting it into the microwave. He turned back to Hiyori, who was scowling at him, yet again.

"I'm thinking you're a lot of things, but they're not very helpful. I'm just wondering what makes _you _so important, why you have connections with Ulquiorra and just what I'm supposed to be doing with you."

He rolled his eyes. Typical for Ulquiorra to leave him with the unpleasant jobs. He was really hoping that she'd know exactly what she was going to be coming in on, but it seemed that Ulquiorra had conveniently left that out.

Grimmjow sighed again, then said "I'm Grimmjow Jeagerjacques," not expecting much to happen. Instead, Hiyori's eyes widened, then her brow furrowed as she glared at him.

"Don't take the mickey," she said, and he heaved an irritated sigh. Was she really that suspicious? Why would anyone pretend to be him? Anyone with two brain cells would be able to figure out that he'd pissed enough people off and had too many connections and talents to be able to impersonate, and if someone tried, they'd be dead in a week. A new thought popped into his head, one that annoyed him even more. Had someone actually _tried_ it while he was gone, marring the name he had made for himself?

"You can't be him. He's off in Puerto Rico or something, scamming rich guys out of their art and stealing the trinkets off their wives'fingers. I just talked to this guy that said he'd seen you-"

"Amazing how people come up with stupid rumors when you're gone just a little while," he said sourly, thinking that if he really had been in Puerto Rico, he would have been something infinitely more dynamic than conning the rich guys and stealing both rings and a few hours sleep from their wives. Still, that was probably better than having people know he'd been in jail, even Haven, the modern and stricter version of Alcatraz.

Hiyori frowned at him as he fished his cup out of the microwave and went to sit back at the table, probably deciding to suspend her decision until she had more facts about him.

"And I know Ulquiorra because I've worked with him for a while now," he said, and she raised her eyebrows

"Oh, well aren't _you_ something special," she scoffed, folding her eyes and leaning back against the cabinets. He nailed her with a flat look and said "Well, yeah, actually, I am. I also happen to be the guy who's giving you free room and board, as well as covering all your expenses and then some. So _shut it._

She pressed her lips together, unable to refute that particular truth.

"Geez, I wish you knew what you're doing."

"I know that we're going to hunt down some nut job in the underworld."

"Eh...not quite. You're in to hunt down a brilliant psychotic mass murderer."

"...Alright," she said, nodding after a second.

"He's a criminal mastermind, you know."

"I got it."

"Who may just be the greatest criminal of the century." He watched her over his cup, adding little detail to little detail so as not to shock her with the blunt, outright truth. She wasn't looking very impressed, seeming a little irritated that he didn't think her competent.

"The century's not that old yet. I'm sure there are a lot of people not trying very hard in the last fifteen or so years."

"It's 45," he said bluntly, suddenly wanting to see the 'come what may' look on her face vanish. She froze, brain obviously going into high speed at his words.

"But that's not possible. The police said they already caught him, and everyone says it's some crazy cult or something, committing all these crimes in his name. You can't catch him!" Her voice was raised and she hopped down from the counter, fists balled.

"What are you playing at, pretending to be Number 6 himself and then saying that we're after 45? Are you-"

"_Oi!_" he barked, voice overwhelming hers. "The cops got it wrong, alright? It _wasn't_ 45 the bloody idiots caught, and it's not a terrorist group causing all the trouble. It's one guy, one crazy, paranoid guy, and we're going to hunt him down."

Hiyori shook her head, staring in disbelief.

"No, you're off your rocker. If he really is just one person, then... He's a _legend._ People don't, they _can't_ touch him!"

"Well, that sucks," Grimmjow said flatly, taking a sip of coffee. Hiyori waved her hands as if to clear his words, trying to get him to understand.

"No, no, you don't _get it._ Where have you been for the last couple of years? You should _know_ that no one can catch this guy!"

"I haven't been in the area," he said easily, and Hiyori scoffed again, though this time, the edges of panic and even hysteria were in her voice.

"What _area_ have you been, then? The Himalayas? Because this guy, he's international news! He's been hopping the globe, blowing up place after place, killing people in gruesome ways and-"

"I know," he said, though he didn't really know as much about 45 as he would have liked. He set down his mug, straightening in his chair.

"Do you know about that one Interpol agent that was on his case last year?" she demanded, and he frowned, recalling a brief mention of it from his searches. "This was almost a month after they'd said he'd been caught, but then there was this other murder, and guy was supposed to tracking him was put back on the case. When he got pretty close...they got him."

"So?"

"One, his death was awful. He was butchered in a way nothing should be. And then...everyone who knew about the case was killed, too. His wife, the fence he was working with and his boss. The weird thing is that his kid wasn't killed."

"It's because killing that would have put him over the limit," Grimmjow said softly, and Hiyori stared at him.

"What?"

"Killing that kid. It would have been sixteen murders. 45 only does fifteen then moves on. What about the information the Interpol agent collected?"

"He got ride of it. Certain documents vanished, supposedly, and the rest were burned in front of his office building. It spelled out the words 'Ha ha'."

Grimmjow raised his eyebrows. Apparently his sense of humor had changed since Grimmjow had last seen him. He noticed Hiyori was staring at him, and he frowned.

"What?"

"You're really set on doing this, aren't you?"

"Yeah. What about you? You can still back out, if you want."

Her face darkened, and she shook her head, giving a laugh that had no amusement in it.

"No one's ever accuse me of being a coward, and they're not gonna start now. I'll do it. But you _better_ be paying me a boat load when we're done."

_Well, isn't she confident for having called me a lunatic two minutes ago,_ he thought, but couldn't help grinning wolfishly at her.

"Welcome aboard, then."

She nodded, folding her arms, and then her eyes narrowed.

_Oh boy,_ he thought, settling into his chair. Clearly she had no intention of cutting him the slightest break.

"Just what are your living plans, exactly?"

"What?"

"How do you expect us to live?" she demanded, throwing her arm in a gesture that included the whole apartment. "There's hardly enough room for one person to live here, much less two and all their equipment. Where are you expecting us to sleep? I'd poke my eyes out before sharing a bed with you!"

"Oh, shut your face," he grunted, rolling his eyes. "Like _you'd_ ever be pretty enough to sleep in _my_ bed. The couch should be just fine."

"_What?" _she practically screeched, and he threw up a hand to cut her off before she got going.

"What's with the stick up your butt? Weren't you bumming on a friend's couch before this?" She scowled, and he gave her an evil smirk. "Oh, I get it. You were making _full use_ of his bed, yeah?"

She spluttered and he laughed, until she punched him in the shoulder, making his arm go numb. He swore, front two chair legs slamming down as he straightened from shock. She glared at him, and spat "What about everything _else_?"

"Like _what?_" he asked, rubbing his shoulder.

"Like the bathroom, or where I'm gonna put my stuff-"

"You _have_ no stuff."

"-or how we're going to explain us living together! What're we gonna tell everyone when they see the two of us living here?" At this, Grimmjow gave her a look. She obviously had yet to realize that simplicity very often was the best way to go.

"We tell 'em that we're living together. Next question." Hiyori scowled, but went on.

"Okay. Where'm I going to put my clothes and stuff?"

"When you actually get some?"

"I have some, idiot! Remember making me grab it when you kicked me out? It's at my friend's place."

"Right. You left it with your bed buddy."

"Don't call him that!" she snapped, and he bit down a laugh. Making her scream when he actually wanted would be highly entertaining, he could tell.

"You can put everything that can be folded in those drawers," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the mostly empty set of drawers pushed up against the wall between the main room and the bedroom. "Anything that has to be hung up, we'll put in the closet."

"But what about when I'm taking a shower?" Grimmjow suppressed a growl of irritation. She was just determined to find problems where there shouldn't be any.

"Lock the forsaken door! Take your clothes in with you, shower, then get out! I'm not gonna hack down the door to jump in the shower with you."

"What about my toiletries?"

"_Vous êtes complètement stupide?_ Your hair product's not going to make your hair rot from being by mine."

"And feminine products?"

"Put them under the sink. I don't wanna see your tampons whenever I go to get a Q-tip."

She flushed, but nodded, tight lipped. He waited for her next complaint, which was clearly already loaded on her tongue.

"Where am I going to sleep?" she asked slowly, and Grimmjow sighed. "I'm _not_ going to stay on that awful couch the entire time. And I'm not gonna sleep on the floor, either."

"Why don't we just _trade_, then?" he asked through grit teeth, and her frown turned considerate. "Every week or so, we'll switch. Next week, I'll go to the couch, and you can have the be-"

"Why do you get the bed first?"

"Because I'm paying for the whole freakin' place, and because I haven't had a place to stay without someone staring at me every second of the day in years and I will hang you out to dry if you want to piss about any more." He tone was low and said very plainly that he had no qualms in breaking her nose if she kept up about it. Hiyori scowled, knowing that she wouldn't be able to compete with him physically should they start brawling.

"Food?"

"Mark whatever you are buying specifically for yourself," he said tiredly, and she looked doubtful. He rolled his eyes, seemingly for the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes. "I won't eat it! If I do, you can eat something of mine in exchange."

"Alright," she said, still frowning.

"Happy? Anything else you wanna fuss about?"

"I'll tell you when I think of it," she grunted, stalking off to the bathroom. He leaned his head back in relief. _Finally._ Maybe now he'd get some peace and quiet.

_**AN I really like the way Grimmjow and Hiyori interact. I can tell some fun times are ahead (but then, I'm the one writing it XD)  
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	7. Renewing Connections

_**AN EEK GAD IT'S BEEN A WHILE. I don't even want to go check to see how much time has passed since the update. I'm not really sure why the chapter's so late, I just...haven't been writing for the story :'D Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and faved the story! It really means a lot ;)  
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Grimmjow groaned, forcing himself to sit up. The evening before had been trying, to say the least. He would have been quite content in not speaking to Hiyori until he actually needed to, but she was the type that needed background noise. When he'd shot down turning on the radio, she began talking about every freakin' thing under the sun. And, of course, complained and about almost as much. He realized that his even being there put her in a tough situation; he'd taken her house, hired her to help him find a psychotic and fantastic killer, informed her that she'd been scammed for months on end and gave her a fair amount of stress and irritation besides, but this was where she pulled on her big girl panties and sucked it up. _He_ wasn't complaining about everything, and he'd gone through significantly worse.

He ran his hand through his hair, pulling his bangs down over his eyes. It was still limp from being dyed, and the color was darker than he liked so it could fade into just the right light blue.

_No point in stalling anymore,_ he thought darkly to himself. _Best go see if the gremlin's awake yet._

He stood up, stretched then walked into the main room. Hiyori was on the couch, hair down from the night before. She watched from under the blankets, which were tugged up to her nose. She mumbled something at him and he rolled his eyes, sighing.

"What? I can't hear you when you've got that thing yanked up to your eyeballs." She scowled at him, nose wrinkling and pulled the blanket down, snapping "I _said_ you better not expect to walk around practically naked all the time."

Grimmjow glanced down at himself, then rolled his eyes again.

"I'm not _practically naked, _dolt, I'm wearing sweat pants."

"Half naked, then," she grumbled, and Grimmjow grit his teeth.

_Ulquiorra, she better be worth her weight in gold..._

He opened up one of the cupboards, searching for breakfast. A small noise came from Hiyori, which made him look back at her.

"What now?" he demanded, and she shrugged. She'd sat up, blanket falling down to reveal a tank top and shorts.

"Nothing, I just...your tattoo."

"What?" He stared at her, then glanced down at his back. Several years ago he'd gotten a large black tattoo off center on the small of his back, a mark that he had once been a part of the inner circle of the Swords. Every one of the ten had gotten them, all in different places. To be honest, he'd forgotten that he'd even had the tattoo, which was kind of funny to think about. It'd been such a source of pride before.

He shrugged at Hiyori, pouring some cereal into a bowl.

"What'd you expect?" he asked, getting out the milk. "I said I'm Grimmjow, right? Why wouldn't you believe me?"

"It's not like you're a questionable person or anything," she said, rolling her eyes. Grimmjow snorted, setting his bowl on the table. He sat in a chair, and after a moment Hiyori walked over to sit by him.

"So a tattoo of something as vague as a six was enough to convince you? That's good."

"No, it wasn't just that tattoo," she retorted, shooting him a look. "It was also the scar. A die hard of yours could have died their hair and gotten the tattoo, no problem, but that...That looked like it almost killed you."

Grimmjow glance down at himself again, a little impressed by how much she knew. A large scar ran down his chest, one that actually ran across his forearms if he crossed them just so in front of himself. He'd gotten it when things had gone fisticuffs when he was still in the Swords, and had spent almost two weeks in the hospital afterwards. As if that hadn't been enough, he'd been forcibly sentenced to bed rest, which had to be enforced by Ulquiorra as he'd kept trying to go out and about, nearly tearing out his stitches.

_If you keep up with this idiocy, I'll knock you out, _he'd told Grimmjow the second time he'd found him trying to sneak out. Grimmjow had sneered and shrugged his shoulders, acting like he didn't really care, but the flat way Ulquiorra had said it admittedly made his skin prickle. Grimmjow could just envision Ulquiorra springing at him and wrapping his arm around Grimmjow's neck, suffocating him until he passed out.

Suffice to say, he'd stayed at home until he was properly healed after that.

He scowled into his cereal. 45, then just Ichigo Kurosaki, had been with him on that job. He'd forgotten that (how had that happened?), allowing it to slip away amidst the chaos and pain. He remembered afterwards, though, when Kurosaki had dropped by to scoff at Grimmjow for having let himself get so grievously injured, and that he was now stuck laying around his apartment.

_Is this becoming a thing?_ Grimmjow wondered sourly. _Am I gonna be hit with a crap load of memories of him when he was just a kid, before he totally cracked?_

Even though Grimmjow wasn't bothered by much, that particular thought unsettled him. Living through it all had been bad enough.

"When you're dressed, I need you to go get a car," he told Hiyori, not looking up from his cereal bowl.

"What?"

"I need _you_ to go get a _car,_" he said testily, dragging the words out. She made a face, and snapped "Yeah, I got that, ya git, I just wanna know _why._"

"Do you really wanna walk everywhere? Either that or you foot the bill for all the taxi's we're going to be taking."

"It's called a _bus,_" Hiyori said pointedly. "Or, you know, the Tube." Grimmjow gave her a look.

"You really think we can take all of our guns and explosives and bodies on a bus or the Tube," he said, laughing slightly as he turned back to his cereal. She made a noise of irritation and stomped over to the fridge, finally demanding "Okay, fine, so we need a car. Why don't you do it?"

"Because I'm doing the hard stuff and calling people," he said, looking over his shoulder at her. "Unless you can get into touch with all those big important criminals we need to pull this whole thing off."

She growled slightly, slamming a cup of yogurt on the table.

"What do you want me to do, then? Steal it or what?"

"No, I want you to buy it. Another reason I can't get it. 45 knows my aliases."

"Get some new ones," she grumbled under her breath, but he continued, specifying the precise used car dealership she needed to go to.

"Make sure you pay with cash, that way the manager knows to wipe the books. He's been doing deals with criminals for years, he knows what to do."

She nodded, staring at her yogurt.

"Anything else?"

"Nope. Just get it today. We've got places to go tomorrow."

"Oh _joy_," she grumbled, stalking off to the bathroom. About an hour later she was leaving the apartment, grumbling all the way as Grimmjow repeated the address to her.

"And you're sure he's gonna just wipe the books if I pay with cash?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, that's exactly how it's gonna work out. Just get going, alright?"

"And while I'm off getting a car, you're gonna be doing what again?"

"Checking up on old friends. I was hoping we could call 'em over and have a proper fiesta."

He shut the door on her grumbles of '_You don't have to be a prick about it..._', relieved to finally have her out of his hair. Even though he'd spent the better part of the last twenty-four hours pondering it, he couldn't really imagine her with a gun in her hands, trying to force a few answers out of a person tied to a chair and sweating the bullets as they decided whether 45 or this outraged midget would be the worst to disappoint.

Grimmjow pulled out a phone, grit his teeth and retrieved the number the shrinks had given him from the bedroom. Another reason why he'd sent Hiyori off to get a car - he didn't really need her glaring at him as he tried to speak to the doctors that had let him out.

He dropped again into the chair at the table, waiting as the phone rang.

"Hello?" came the breathless voice of the man he'd spoken through on the intercom in Haven. It sounded as if he had lunged across the room to grab the phone in case it spontaneously decided to stop ringing.

"Hey. You said I had to check in."

"Oh, oh, yes, Mister Jeagerjacques, yes, uhm, thank you." Grimmjow suppressed a snort - the man sounded like he was on his knees thanking God that Grimmjow had actually followed orders.

_Wonderful to see they have such faith in me_, he thought, rocking onto the back legs of the chair like he'd done only a few days ago when last speaking to this man.

"Look, quit it with the 'mister' thing. I ain't a big business man and we all know it. No need to impress me."

"Or maybe I could have been doing it out of manners," the man said, somewhat sullen at the reprimand. "If I can't say 'mister', what'll keep you from snapping at me when I address you?" the doctor asked, and Grimmjow found himself shrugging. It was kind of weird speaking to the man, he sounded younger than Grimmjow, and lacked the distinct air of having a stick jammed so far up his butt that it made him sit straight.

_Maybe I'll get some wiggle room,_ he thought, smile turning wolfish.

"I don't care, Six, Jeagerjacques, whatever you want."

"...Jeagerjacques, then. And you can call me Brian."

"Yeah, whatever. I've got nothing special to report, just barely settling in. That all you want?"

"I doubt I'd get much more even if it wasn't," he said, and Grimmjow grinned.

"Hey, look at that, you're learning!"

"We noticed that you've made good use of the credit card we gave you," Brian said, voice sounding a bit more formal.

"Hey, I can't let a perfectly good gift to go to waste," Grimmjow said, and could just see Brian roll his eyes.

"I suppose all of your guns and other illegal items were bought in cash from rundown joints in the back of nail salons?"

"What, you think I'm buying items expressly forbidden by our fair country? Brian, I'm _shocked._"

"Whatever," Brian said back, sounding a bit more like a typical person. Grimmjow decided he liked him, for a shrink. He actually seemed like he had a soul, under all that science and psychoanalytical crap. "Just make sure that you keep up on calling in."

"Yeah, sure. I'll call if I need anything."

"That's not what I-"

"Good as you're getting," Grimmjow said, then hung up. He switched phones, then dialed a number he had managed to dig up the day before. He waited for the ring, breath baited until he heard the voice on the other end.

"Hello, who is this?" a woman asked, and Grimmjow broke into a wide smile.

_"Bonjour, et comment est la belle dame__ aujourd'hui?"_ he asked, and was rewarded with a gasp.

"_Grimmjow?!_" she demanded in a harsh whisper, followed by "You jerk, it's been years!"

"It's nice to hear from you, too, Nel," Grimmjow continued, still in French. She switched languages as well, voice torn between a laugh and a shout.

"You've got a lot of guts, mister! I've been so worried about you, the _stories _I've heard-"

"Eh, I promise you they're all stories. Especially the one where I go to Central America."

"I knew it," she said, and he could hear the grin in her voice. "You're definitely the first world country kind of guy. Stable economies, work's more of a challenge, the mob not running the whole show..."

"Where's the fun in any of that? It's like playing with a bunch of brats who like throwing tantrums."

Nel laughed, and he gave himself a moment to enjoy the sound before getting to business.

"Hey, I need to see you. I've got some stuff we need to talk about."

"Mm? And where do you want to do that?"

"I was thinking your favorite club. Is that still open?"

"The Orchid Lounge? Of course!"

"Then I'll meet you there tomorrow, say...nine?"

"Any earlier, and I'd think you'd actually want to see me," she remarked dryly, and he scoffed into the phone.

"Look, Nel, I'm busy. I've got a lot of crap to deal with, straightening things up, you know, stuff like that."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'll see you then. And...Grimmjow?"

"Yeah?"

"It was nice to hear from you," she said softly, and he thought for a moment about how he really only called Nel up to ask her to shoot something. But he couldn't really bother himself with pleasantries like keeping up on chitchat, the fact that he deigned to go to her in the first place said enough, and she knew that. Few people got that honor, say the least. And if she really wanted to talk, Nel could just as easily pick up the phone and call him herself.

"I know," he said, then listened to the dial tone as Nel hung up. He shook his head, a grin stretching his mouth. That was just like her, so in a hurry to get going she often forgot to think about the fact that maybe she was being incredibly rude.

Grimmjow stood up and went and got dressed, feeling a little more confident in things. He knew that he had he had miles to go before he was anywhere near ready to track down 45, but this was definitely a start.

_**AN Nel! I love her quite a bit, though it was weird writing for her. Maybe it's because we only saw a snippet of her adult personality? Either way, it's good to have her here :)  
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